


Stars on the Screen

by feralhumours



Series: Safeword Coin [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Bottom Hank, Dom/sub, Jealousy, M/M, Top Connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:58:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17076434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralhumours/pseuds/feralhumours
Summary: “You’ve never had interest in pornography with androids before,” murmurs Connor, staring at the way the android in the video lifts his head from the girl’s lap and kisses her mouth. “Why now?”Hank raises a brow. “You getting jealous, or something?”---Connor has baggage, too.





	Stars on the Screen

**Author's Note:**

> consider this something of a companion piece to _coins on the table_ rather than a true sequel, i guess. the only commonality is the safeword!coin and the two of them fucking through baggage, haha.

            There’s an RT600 named Margot with big, big hair.

            She’s at the precinct as a witness relevant to an ongoing case. After they take her statements, Margot hangs around to chat with some of the officers, killing some time while she waits for someone to pick her up. She’s bubbly and cute, with a voice that lightens up the place; her hair, though, is what draws his attention.

            Hank asks her about it because he’s fascinated.

            “My owner loved Farrah Fawcett,” she explains, with a delicate laugh. “She had so many vintage magazines…and a signed picture, too. She used to keep my hair like this, and after I deviated I just…kept it.”

            He doesn’t ask what happened to her owner. That kind of thing is not his business.

            She looks up at him, eyes big and excited. “Are you a fan of hers?”

            “Farrah was a little bit before me,” Hank chuckles. “But I get it. My dad had a thing, and mom liked Charlie’s Angels.”

            Margot giggles, and Hank tells her the hair looks good like that, that it makes her stand out. A few paces away, Connor watches them speak and quietly takes it all in; Hank wonders what’s so interesting that the android can’t seem to tear his eyes away, or why he doesn’t come up to join them. It’s not as though he’s ever had a problem with being chatty.

            Her LED blinks, and she pauses. “My ride is here.”

            “Well,” says Hank, tossing his empty cup of coffee into the trash. “Thanks for coming in, miss. We’ll get in touch if we need anything else from you.”

            “Of course,” she nods, and her hair bounces along her shoulders. “It was nice meeting you, lieutenant.”

            “Take care.”

            He watches as she spins on her heel and heads for the front entrance. Then there’s the sound of steady footsteps as Connor comes to a stop by his side. Looking over, Hank sees his eyes trained on the girl’s back, LED circling yellow.  

            His expression is unreadable. Strange, and distant like he normally _isn’t_ these days. Not since they’ve started shacking up together, and certainly not since he’s become deviant.

            “You all right?” Hank asks, his brows drawing together.

            Connor nods.

            When he replies, his voice is polite but distant: “I’m fine, lieutenant.”

            Shrugging, Hank turns and heads for the washroom.

            “If you say so.”

            Might just be some case-related distraction. And having met more deviants now, he’s seen that they’re completely capable of getting lost in their thoughts.

            He comes out to see Connor still standing right where he left him, looking down at his hands now and twisting one of his knuckles with his fingers. Coming close, Hank nudges his elbow with his own to draw him out of his reverie.

            When Connor looks back at him, he’s smiling – though it looks forced and sticky, like it’s been slapped on and might need to be peeled off.

            “We should get to filling out those reports,” he says, blandly.

            “Pfft, you mean _you_ should get to it,” says Hank. “You’re quicker at that stuff than me, anyway – _and_ you’ve got a computer in your head.”

            “Careful lieutenant,” Connor chides. “Or I really might end up stealing your job, like the news says.”

            Hank snorts.

            “Please _do_. I could use a vacation.”

            Later, they get lunch – Hank’s usual at the Chicken Feed, tucking themselves under the big umbrella at the plastic table to get out from the rain. As he eats, they talk vaguely about work and the subject of Margot comes up again.

            “What a sweet girl,” Hank mutters, then sighs before sipping from his straw. “Fucking shame when nice people like that get involved in bad business.”

            Connor clasps his hands on the tabletop. He looks at Hank from under his eyelashes, which stick together from the drizzle.

            “ _Was_ she sweet?” he asks, lightly.

            “Huh?”

            “It’s not as though you spoke to her for that long,” he murmurs. His gaze drifts and he starts watching the people in line, and speaks like he’s not all there. “She might not be sweet at all, for all you know. Maybe she’s really boring.”

            Setting down his cup, Hank stares at the android’s sharp profile. There’s water misted on the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones. In the grey afternoon light, his skin looks dewy. Soft, in the way that Hank knows it actually is.  

            “What’re you talking about, Connor?”

            Connor straightens. “Nothing,” he waves a hand, and picks up the empty burger box. “I’ll throw this out.”

 

*

 

            Hank is close to dozing when a hand sneaks around under the blanket to creep up the front of his shirt, stroking along his belly.

            “Mm…?”

            Behind him, Connor’s LED glows an alert, attentive blue. Hooking his chin over Hank’s shoulder, he brushes a kiss to Hank’s jaw and asks, “Are you in the mood, Hank?”

            “Not really,” he mumbles, raising a brow. “…What, are you?”

            “Yes,” smooth lips kiss at his temple. “Any chance I could…get you there, tonight?”

            “Gonna be real honest with you, kid,” sighs Hank, reaching up to scratch the top of Connor’s head. “I’m pretty beat.”

            The hand falls away and Connor hums. Disappointed, and doing a bad job at hiding it.

            “Sure.”

            “Thanks,” Hank murmurs, kissing him on the cheek. Then he grins, a little wry as he settles back down. “Old guys, y’know…”

            Connor rolls his eyes.

 

*

 

            Anton is an AP700 model, with a square-jaw and has a mouth that doesn’t seem to stop smiling. He’s even got the lines around his eyes that, on a human, would normally be demonstrative of future crow’s feet.

            He’s a witness to an attempted armed robbery, having seen the commotion from next door and darting out of his house to help detain the men responsible: two humans, finally caught after a string of robberies of houses with known android residents.  

            A few paces away, Chris is taking a statement from the homeowners – a young woman and her two android roommates – while Connor examines and catalogues the mess made of the living room. The other officers have the perpetrators in the back seat of a squad car, waiting on everyone inside to finish up.

            “Thanks for your help,” says Hank, kindly. “Things might’ve gotten real ugly if you hadn’t jumped in when you did.”

            Some of the other homeowners didn’t make it out alive, but Hank doesn’t say so in front of the family.

            “But be careful,” he adds. “You’re a civilian – next time, I’d advise you to stay back and just focus on calling us first, all right?”

            Anton snorts, grinning from ear to ear. “We’re pretty durable, sir. Could probably take a couple of buck shots to the chest and fare a bit better than you – with all due respect,” he raises his hands, placating. “Of course.”

            Hank rolls his eyes. “Let’s not put that to the test, okay?”

            “They tell me at work sometimes that I’d probably be better off as a crash test dummy than a server,” Anton winks.

            Wrinkling his nose, Hank mutters: “That sounds kinda shitty.”

            “Oh yeah, definitely,” he nods, chipper. “Real bona fide ‘droidphobes, but whatever. That’s what I get for working min wage.”

            Hank doesn’t really have the heart to tell him that attitudes like that don’t exactly change any further up the ladder, so he just nods.

            “Well, that’s all we need from you right now,” he says, back to business. “We’ll get in contact with you if we need anything else.”         

            The android nods, so enthusiastically that his hair goes a bit wild.

            “Later,” says Anton, with a wave. He saunters off and starts to whistle on his way out; as can be expected of an android, the tune is crisp and perfect.

            “Weird guy,” Hank says, chuckling. “Never figured I’d meet an android like that.”

            Coming up to his side, Connor gives him a pinched look. “Like…what, exactly?”

            “You know,” Hank shrugs. “Funny guy type.”

            “There were five internationally known android comedians in the spotlight before the revolution,” says Connor, clipped. “Androids have been funny for some time.”

            Hank wrinkles his nose and gives him an exasperated look. “Not that kind of funny, jackass. You know what I mean.”

            “You should specify, then.”

            “Should I?” Hank grouses. “You’re being kind of a dickhead, Connor. What’s gotten into you?”

            Connor frowns, working his jaw. “…It’s nothing. I apologize, lieutenant.”

            “If you say so,” says Hank, studying his face. He doesn’t feel like getting into a fight though, so he leaves it at that. Maybe Connor’s just having an off day – androids have those, right?

 

*

 

            Connor manages to rein in whatever it is that keeps souring his mood until a few weeks later, when they’re watching a movie on TV.

            Sumo sleeps on the dog bed by the computer desk, and Connor is nestled under his arm. Moments like these, Hank can barely believe sometimes; for a while, he was sure things would never be this comfortable ever again.

            When they reach the end of the movie, Hank flips through some channels, not really feeling like getting up just yet. He’s warm, Connor feels nice, and his back has made a nice groove in his couch. Eventually, he hits a talk show where an android is being interviewed for writing a book about her experience as a deviant pre-revolution.

            She stutters on an answer and ducks her head behind her hand.  

            “Sorry,” she says, tittering a little. “I’m just a little bit nervous.”

            The interviewer laughs. “It’s okay – you do end up getting used to it. By the time you start your book tour it’ll be second nature.”

            “Gosh, let’s hope!”

            Then they get back on track, talking about the project.

            “Huh,” says Hank. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen an android nervous before.”

            Connor pipes up: “Nervousness would’ve been counterproductive, before the revolution. It’s strictly a deviant phenomenon.”

            “It’s kinda nice.”

            Blinking up at him, Connor asks, “Why?”

            “I guess it’s just easier to understand,” Hank shrugs. “Common ground, or something. Less like androids are, y’know, like us but more _perfect_.”

            Connor glances over at the TV: “All that just from some stuttering?”

            He sounds a little bit derisive, and Hank raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

            “It’s just,” Connor collects himself, but his lips are still in a tight pinch. “You don’t know if it’s for show. Humans do it too – projecting an image to others. Especially public figures. Androids are more than capable of doing the same.”

            Hank sighs. “Way to be a downer, kid. Shit.”

            “I’m not trying to be a downer, I’m just –”

            “Do you think she was faking it?” Hank interrupts. The warm mood is close to souring, and he’s not interested in talking in weird circles around each other. “Just answer me that.”

            “…No.”

            “Well then,” Hank chuckles. “There we go. It’s not that deep.”

            He can feel how Connor scowls, and his chuckling peters off into a tired sigh.

            “Look,” he says, trying to be soothing. “I’m not sure what’s got you all tense, but I don’t mean anything bad by it, okay?”

            Connor bites his lip. “I wasn’t implying you did.”

            “Okay.”

            “I just…” he shifts, and one of his pointy little shoulders digs uncomfortably into Hank’s side. “I guess I don’t want you to be so easily impressed.”

            “ _Wow_ ,” Hank whistles, and ruffles Connor’s hair. “You’re a little asshole, aren’t you?”

            “That came out worse than I intended,” Connor says, sighing and smoothing his hair back. “I’m sorry.”

            “Eh, whatever,” Hank laughs. “Maybe you’re even right. I might be easily impressed – but cut me a break. It wasn’t too long ago that you guys were all dead-eyed and doing everything we said without question.”

            Connor squints. “ _Now_ who’s being a little asshole?”

            “Don’t dish it if you can’t take it, son,” quips Hank.

            They both fall silent, letting the lull take over. Connor still looks a bit distracted, and Hank figures maybe he can try to explain himself a little bit better.

            “It’s just nice to see you guys coming into your own,” he says, eventually. “Figuring yourselves out. Being people. Getting your own little quirks.”

            Connor peers up at him. “What about me?” he asks. “Do you see these things in me?”

            “Sure,” Hank nods.

            “How so?” he doesn’t move, but his gaze catches Hank’s.

            “Well,” he hadn’t intended on a long conversation about it, but he gets the feeling Connor would be upset if he changed gears now. “You’re a lot less uptight than when I met you.”

            Connor rolls his eyes. “I was never uptight.”

            “If you say so,” Hank grins. “Let’s see…”

            He shifts, moving back to take Connor’s chin in his fingers and turning his face back and forth like he’s inspecting him. Connor’s eyes don’t leave his face, wide and inquisitive, his rich brown irises locked onto Hank’s with unnatural focus.

            Hank pretends to think hard about it, feeling light and playful.

            “You’ve gotten sassier,” he says. “Not that you weren’t before, but now it’s real cute.”   

            He gets a little scoff at that. “You think everything I do is ‘cute’.”

            “Yup.”

            Connor sighs, faux-exasperated. “Keep going.”

            Hank’s hands drop to his shoulders, squeezing. “You’ve got a big heart,” he says, more sincere than he’d set out to be. “Wouldn’t have known it was in there before everything went down, but…y’know. It comes out a little more every day.”

            He settles his hands behind Connor’s nape and draws him close, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek. “It looks good on you.”

            They pull apart, and Connor smiles at him – one his bigger ones that makes his eyes go all small. He beams so much that Hank thinks he could light up the house all on his own. Just like that, whatever it was that brought him down earlier evaporates like it was never there at all.

            A hand flattens on Hank’s chest, and Connor says, “You should take me to bed, Hank.”

            Running his fingers down a straight, slim back, Hank smirks. “That easy, huh? All it took was a few pretty words?” he jokes.

            Connor gets up from the couch, taking Hank’s hand and pulling him up. “I like your words,” he says with a wink. “Especially when they’re for me.”

 

*

 

            When Hank was younger, he never figured he would ever become the type of desperate weird guy to watch porn on his phone. Once, he’d gone through his dad’s photo gallery on his cell and caught some incriminating screenshots; the whole thing had been so embarrassing that the idea of it got ruined forever. Hank may not have been the most tech savvy person around even when everyone else around him seemingly was – but he _did_ know about incognito and tidying up after himself. 

            Yet here he is, about the age his dad had been, and he can’t be bothered to give a damn.

            Mostly he just doesn’t feel like getting up and fussing with his laptop, so he lies back against his pillows and pulls up his go-to site on the little browser window.

            He hasn’t had a proper night off in weeks, and reckons no one would blame him for indulging.  

            Most of the thumbnails look like the usual stuff – perky young girls getting good and fucked from every conceivable angle. Not that that isn’t something he’s into sometimes, but he’s feeling strangely specific tonight; for what, he’s not quite sure, but he thinks he’ll know it when he sees it.

            And then he sees it: android-on-human porn.

            Everyone’s known this kind of thing existed. Ever since androids were first released onto the market, he has scrolled past videos like this before nearly every time he’s indulged himself. They’re common; they’re even _popular_ , but somehow being in a relationship with an android makes him notice it in a way he never cared to before.

            Tapping a finger on the edge of his phone, he considers whether he wants to check it out before caving into curiosity. 

            The girl is human, slim and redheaded, and young like they always are on these things. She’s freckled all over, wearing a cute, frilly bra and nothing else, and her toenails are painted green.

            She’s got a nice mouth and big eyes, which don’t leave the camera until her android partner slips into the frame – one of those models that Hank had seen in CyberLife’s basement, when Connor had saved the revolution. He has no LED, and the way he smiles isn’t stiff and android-like at all, totally deviant. Sometimes, Hank finds himself forgetting they all are, these days. 

            The two of them kiss. He finds himself thinking they look good together. There’s chemistry – maybe they’re even a real couple off-screen.

            He skips over some of the preamble to a part where the android has his fingers working her pussy, and Hank shucks his boxers. She looks into it, her moans sounding like the real deal, with her back squished against the pillows and hips squirming on her partner’s hand; soon enough, Hank’s jerking himself in earnest, eying the picture they make together in satisfaction. 

            Bending his leg, he cranks up the volume and braces the phone against his thigh while his other hand reaches down to his ass, teasing the rim of his hole. He’d gotten himself all clean in the shower earlier, thinking he could maybe nudge Connor into fucking him tonight. But then his partner had called and said he’d be at the office late, and that had been that.

            By the time the android starts going down on her, Hank’s so absorbed he doesn’t hear the front door open, nor the footsteps heading to his bedroom.

            “Hank?”

            The door pops open and Hank jumps hard enough that the phone goes tumbling off him and onto the ground, the sounds of moaning loud and incriminating. Hand still fisted around his dick, Hank stares into Connor’s shocked face.

            “Uh, hey,” he says, before gathering his wits. “Thought you were doing to be late.”

            “…I was,” Connor says, eyes dropping down to the phone on the carpet. The screen is face up, and the shapes and sounds of people fucking are unmistakable. “But things wrapped up earlier than anticipated.”

            Before Hank can bend over the edge of the bed to pick it up, Connor strides into the room and does it for him, looking intently at the scene.

            Hank feels an absurd urge to apologize, despite not having done anything out of bounds. Connor knows he watches porn – even joked about his search history once or twice. This isn’t some trespass, he knows, but the look on his face is giving Hank pause.

            Maybe catching him in the act is a different thing, or something.

            “Hey, look,” says Hank, pitching his voice louder to drown out the girl’s. “I –”

            “He’s an android,” Connor speaks much quieter, but his tone pierces through the noise like a bullet.

            The glow from the screen lights up the edge of his jaw, too – tense, moving like he’s grinding his teeth.

            Somehow, Hank knows he’s fucked up.

            “Yeah,” he says, sitting up straight. He considers grabbing his boxers from the ground, but that seems a little too squirrelly to him; instead, he crosses his arms and rests them on his bent knees. “Is that…a problem?”

            That would be really fucking weird, if it was. 

            Connor takes a seat next to him on the bed, feet planted on the floor and eyes still glued to the screen. Hank looks down at his sleek black socks, his high insteps and the points of his toes – and then at his free hand, slim fingers curled over the edge of the mattress. Reaching over, he rubs over the ridges of those smooth knuckles with his thumb. They’re very tense.

            The LED is on the other side of his head; Hank can’t see it from here, can’t cheat and guess at his mood.

            “You’ve never had interest in pornography with androids before,” murmurs Connor, staring at the way the android in the video lifts his head from the girl’s lap and kisses her mouth. “Why now?”

            Hank raises a brow. “You getting jealous, or something?”

            “I asked you a question first, Hank,” the tightness in his voice gives it away, anyway.

            Clearing his throat, Hank says, “Look, it was there…and I just got curious.”

            “Hm.”

            There’s an agonizing moment where neither of them says anything, where Connor stares at phone like he wants to set it on fire and where Hank watches his profile with a mounting sense of alarm. He’s never appreciated how blunt and straightforward Connor usually is with his thoughts; to have him lock up now makes something heavy form in the pit of his stomach, a noxious cocktail of concern and fear.

            When Connor finally turns a little bit to look at him, Hank sees that his LED is glowing yellow, and he could almost breathe a sigh of relief for having _some_ clue.

            “Hey,” he starts, trying to soothe. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

            The arousal is steadily burning out and he’s thinking they’re on their way to a big, serious conversation before going to bed.

            Not his favourite thing to sleep to, but these things happen. Hopefully it won’t be an argument. He still remembers some of the rare blowout fights he used to have with his wife; most of them involved him rolling over simply because he didn’t want to have to keep talking circles, going to sleep on the couch for a week or so until the both of them cooled off and sorted things out for real. 

            Connor, though – he gets the feeling Connor won’t have that.

            “You don’t usually notice androids this much,” says Connor. He still hasn’t turned off the video, and the sounds of the couple on the screen are beginning to get awkward.

            “‘This much’?” Hank isn’t sure what he’s getting at.

            “You seem so happy when you talk one, these days,” he murmurs, watching as the girl giggles and gropes her partner’s ass. “So fascinated and amused…”

            Hank isn’t sure that Connor is even talking to him anymore.

            Reaching over, Hank taps the phone screen, pausing the video before turning Connor’s face toward him. His eyes are staring off somewhere in the direction of Hank’s chest and damn, he _must_ be upset because Connor never has an issue with looking him in the eye when they speak.

            Hank may not be the most skilled at talking things out, but he’d been married once. And he’d like to think he can soothe a little insecurity from someone he cares about.

            “We talked about that, didn’t we?” he starts. “Come on, sometimes I’m a little slow to take in new shit. Hell, yesterday some kid at the pharmacy had this – I don’t know – necklace charm thing that doubled as a vape and I thought about it during the whole damn drive home.”

            He sighs, rubbing at Connor’s back in soothing circles and chuckles: “Look, if it bothers you so much I’ll be meaner to the next android I see, how about that?”

            Connor frowns. “That’s not what I want.”

            “I’m kidding.”

            “Don’t.”

            “All right, all right,” he tries again. “I promise. You’ve got nothing to be worried about. I’m just easily amused, I guess.”

            Finally, Connor looks at him. His lovely eyes are big with longing, and doubt. “You used to be amused by me. The things I did used to catch your attention.”

            Hank squints at him.

            “Connor, we live together. I see you every day.”

            “So?”

            “So,” he sweeps a hand through his hair, frustrated. “We’re getting used to each other. That’s a good thing.”

            “I don’t see how that’s a good thing,” Connor says, tightly. He puts the phone down onto the nightstand before primly clasping his hands on his lap. “What use am I…if I can’t even keep your attention?”

            “Whoa, hey – ” this was getting out hand. Hank pokes a finger into Connor’s chest. “Now, I never fucking said that. Of course you have my attention. It’s just different when people have been together a long time.”

            Did he have to explain the honeymoon phase? Sometimes Hank forgets that Connor – that _androids_ – haven’t been around all that long. The two of them might even be the first couple on _Earth_ to have to deal with this kind of thing, and the thought of that is too big to think about.

            God, he might need a drink after this.

            A stiff sort of silence takes over as Connor thinks on that, as Hank watches him do it and considers what he can say to make his partner feel better.

            He remembers the early days of his relationship with his wife. He and Laurel had dated a long time before marrying and by the time they did, they’d been settled into each other, cozy and comfortable. She’d made her grooves in him, and he in her; marriage hadn’t made the whole thing new again, and that had been _even better_. How does he explain that feeling? How does he explain to Connor that Hank is there all over again, with someone he never expected but is thankful for, all the same?

            Then very suddenly, Connor is reaching up and tugging at his tie, motions sharp and whip-fast. “Do we still have lubricant?” he asks.

            Hank sputters.

            “Wha…?”

            Connor pulls open the drawer in the nightstand and takes out the bottle. There isn’t much left, but there’s enough for whatever he’s is planning.

            It feels a bit like getting whiplash; Hank can’t quite figure out how Connor is in the mood after he seemed so stormy just a moment ago. If anything, it looks the like storm hasn’t quite _left_. 

            “Connor,” Hank starts, reaching over to pat the kid’s hip. “You can’t be serious.”

            Abruptly, Connor stands. “I am. And you should get hard again.”

            The sharp blue of his LED blinks and Hank’s phone lights up, resuming the video without anyone touching it.

            Hank gapes. From where he is, he can see the android taking one of the girl’s tits in his mouth.

            Without taking his eyes off Hank’s face, Connor pointedly pulls his coin out of his pocket and tosses it onto the nightstand with a flick of his thumb.

            “Oh,” breathes Hank, watching it spin and snatch the light from his lamp. It drops onto its side in a clatter of metal on wood, right next to the phone, where the couple starts fucking in earnest.

            It’s going to be one of _those_ nights, then.

            It’s their own little thing: a way for Connor to take charge the way he wants to, and for Hank get roughed up and fucked the way he wants but sometimes has a hard time admitting to. When the coin is taken out it’s a negotiation, one that frees them both without nudging uncomfortably against the bits of Hank’s pride that he’s not quite sure he’ll ever unlearn. He can’t quite bring himself to do something cheesy like say “paprika” or “Jeffrey Fowler” in bed just because he doesn’t like something – the way he figures it, “no” should be enough. But then, sometimes – _sometimes_ – he thinks about getting swept up, his “no” not mattering at all, and gets a hot flush of shame and interest.

            Hank had dug his heels until Connor gave him a suitable compromise: grab the coin, and they stop and do something else – all without Hank having to say a word. It’s been more than fine for them both, one of the private little quirks to their relationship that Hank is quietly grateful for.

            Most of the time, if the mood calls for it, one of them will ask and get things moving. It’s never started like this before, with Connor chucking the coin onto the table and looking at Hank like he’s going to eat him alive; if Hank weren’t already keyed up from earlier, he’d be well on the way now. A part of his brain still hangs onto the tense, unfinished talk – but as Connor dips a knee onto the mattress, he feels that part getting smaller and smaller.

            The bottle drops onto the bed, rolling until it stops next to Hank’s hip. Connor asks, “Do you object?”

            Staring at the coin, Hank slowly shakes his head. Maybe he hadn’t been gunning for _this_ tonight, but suddenly he’s not capable of thinking about anything else.

            Maybe they’ll talk more later, or maybe this will do all the talking for them.

            Connor bends at the hip and surges forward for a kiss – his tongue slips into Hank’s mouth first, before their lips even touch. It’s rough, and purposeful enough to make Hank melt: a prelude to what Connor wants to do to him and how he wants to do it.

            Past the slick sounds of their mouths, Hank can hear the girl gasp.

            He feels his hands being taken and maneuvered, placed on his cock and under his balls. Connor’s lips pull away from his to bite at the side of his mouth, nipping a trail to his cheek.

            “Make it quick,” he says.

            Not like he’s going to argue.

            Hank blindly scrabbles for the bottle, popping open the cap to squirt some onto his hand before getting to work. Connor sucks on his throat, right next to his Adam’s Apple, and one of his hands is slipping under Hank’s shirt to palm at his chest, rasping through the hair.  

            Normally Connor is the one to do the honours of opening him up, taking his sweet time with it; utilizing all that inhuman patience to get Hank well and truly bothered. But Hank finds he’s liking this, too – plunging fingers hurriedly into himself while Connor impatiently feels him up like a piece of meat.

            Rucking Hank’s shirt up to his chin, Connor dips down to take a nipple into his mouth, laving messily with his tongue and squeezing hard at the soft mound of Hank’s belly with both hands.

            “Done?” asks Connor, bringing his attentions to his other nipple, grazing it with his teeth. He almost sounds like he doesn’t care of Hank is ready or not, and Hank’s cock throbs at the sound of it.

            “Yeah…” Hank grits, pulling his hands away and wiping the mess on his sheets. He reaches up to pull Connor in for a kiss, but the android ducks out of his reach and pulls his shirt off.

            “Lie back,” he says, making quick work of his pants and socks.

            Dazed, with excitement simmering hotly in his gut, Hank nods.

            He barely has himself settled back before Connor is knocking his knees apart, almost rude with it, and breaching him in a steady push. Hank buries his surprise in a grunt, digging his heels into the mattress to keep from snapping his legs shut out of instinct. Connor isn’t all that big, but the blunt pressure still takes some getting used to.

            Connor can take it like a pro – sometimes even acts like a bit of a show-off about it – but Hank always finds himself tensing up like it’s the first time all over again. 

            When he bottoms out, Connor shivers above him, his face losing some of that tension and going slack. His eyes slip closed as he lets himself feel, mouth parting on a sigh of deep, deep satisfaction.

            Hank watches Connor’s face as he steadies himself, enjoying _being_ enjoyed. Connor never hid when he liked something, and for that Hank is always thankful. He reaches up and locks his hands around that trim waist, thumbs smoothing over his stomach, taking in the squish of his own thighs against Connor’s slender sides.     

            It doesn’t take much, a few deeper strokes, before Hank starts getting into it, groaning and letting his head fall back into the pillow.

            “ _Fuck_ …!” one of his legs is being hitched over a shoulder and then he’s being folded in half, Connor’s face leaning close enough to bite at his mouth.

            Narrow hips slam harshly into his – angle perfect, rhythm perfect; android abilities at their finest. Hank tries not to sound too much like a desperate slut over it so early, trying to keep _some_ semblance of pride, but Connor’s always been able to make quick work of that in no time.

            He reaches up, tries to touch back, but Connor latches onto his wrist and keeps it planted on the bed. He doesn’t even break his pace doing it, pounding into Hank roughly enough for the sound of lube and skin to almost drown out the volume of the video next to them.   

            There’s a lot he thinks he could be saying about now, if he could just catch his breath: how pretty Connor is, how even prettier his moans are, or how his touch gets Hank going more than anything else. Instead, he stares at that slender hand clamped onto his wrist – he tugs, just to try it, and when the android’s grip doesn’t budge he nearly purrs.

            Connor drops his head down onto Hank’s chest, eyelashes fluttering. He sighs, a gorgeous wash of sound, and says, “You sound like her.”

            It takes Hank a moment to realize he’s talking about the porn star, and he laughs in surprise: “W-what? Like a girl?”

            “Mmm,” he hums, throaty and satisfied and smug. “No. _Loud_.”

            His hips snap forward on a particularly mean thrust and Hank gasps – and he barely gets the chance to suck the air back in before Connor is pulling out almost all the way and slamming back inside in one vicious stroke. Again and again, he does it, nuzzling into Hank’s chest with his cheek as his hand slides up behind the nape of Hank’s sweaty neck, gripping tight. Hank’s fingers dig into the sharp edges of his shoulder blades, gritting his teeth and trying his best to bear down on the urge to howl.

            “Needy, too,” Connor continues, sounding blissed out his mind. “Like your body is running ahead of you – straight to _me_ , as it should be.”

            He tugs harshly on Hank’s hair, cranking his head back and giving him a view of his ceiling through the sudden blur as his eyes water from the sting. It makes him groan, from deep in his chest. He feels a mouth at his neck, teeth settling onto his jugular just as the cock in his ass pulls out completely.

            Empty, Hank feels his hole twitch – and blood floods his cheeks in a humiliated rush. He’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to get over _that_ part of this, where his body becomes needy like that without his say-so, wanting to be stuffed and roughed up and fucking used like he’s still good for something even after life has put him out to pasture. 

            Fingertips tease at his rim, and Hank snaps, “Oh come on…!”

            “Hm…?”

            “Don’t fucking play around!”

            Connor’s tongue laps at his skin just before his lips seal over that spot on his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and he slides back into Hank as he does so – taking the edge off that ache.

            “ _Oh yeah_ …” Hank drawls.

            “Could another android make you sound like this?” asks Connor, pulling his mouth off. The air feels cool against that wet spot on his throat. Connor drops lower to nip at his collar bones, a sudden and hard pinch that makes Hank yelp.

            “Hey, take it easy – ”

            Connor cuts him off: “Could sweet Margot do it? Funny, charming Anton?”

            Both his hands come up to knead at Hank’s chest, pinching his nipples hard enough to make Hank’s breath hitch. He stares at Hank like it’s an interrogation, reaches down to stroke hard at Hank’s cock like he’s sending a message. “Or the one in the video? Could _he_?”

            “Jesus, Connor…”

            “Don’t give them that kind of credit,” snaps Connor. “Not when I’m here. Not when I’m _right in front of you_.”

            Hank doesn’t know what to say to that, barely keeping up with Connor’s feverish pace – the fucking, the talking, all of it. He wonders if he should be soothing what hurt pride that Connor is nursing, and sucks in a breath to do so.

            But then Connor is pulling out and shuffling back, right off the bed. Before Hank can register what’s happening, there’s a hand locking around one of his ankles and hauling him down. He yelps, spinning onto his front on instinct and grasping at the sheets. Connor lets go when his feet are nearly dangling off the edge, and Hank feels the mattress bounce as the android climbs back on and stops on his knees behind Hank’s thighs.

            It’s rare that anyone can really push him around – somehow, he always, _always_ forgets how strong Connor can be when he really puts his back into it.

            Hank shifts up onto all fours. “You could’ve just said something,” he grouses, breathless. “Don’t need to toss me around like a ragdoll.”

            Connor doesn’t respond, and something in his silence is tense. Hank looks back over his shoulder to see his face – focused and serious, brown eyes black in the dark. Red burns like a signal flare at his temple as he settles one hand on the small of Hank’s back and grips his cock with the other, bumping the head up against Hank’s hole.

            “Back into me,” he says, staring Hank down.

            Hank swallows. “Uh –”

            “ _Back into me_ ,” Connor snaps – nearly snarls, because Hank can see his teeth and the way his brows draw down like he’s angry. The way it looks makes a shiver rock its way down his spine and his cock leak.

            Dropping his head down in a low bow, eyes shielded by his hair, Hank braces his thighs further apart and pushes his body back. Connor can’t see it, thank God, but Hank’s mouth can’t seem to stay closed, jaw loose and tongue nearly bloated with spit. He feels like a fucking dog in heat, sucking some of it back into his mouth so he doesn’t drool onto his own bed.

            He probably looks ridiculous, moving himself onto Connor’s cock in unpracticed, clumsy thrusts. Graceless and awkward as hell, but Connor seems like it, because he’s sighing – pleased and proud. It’s that sound, as much as the feeling, that gets Hank right where it matters, makes him pant, shaking the hair out his eyes. 

            “Would you do this for any of them?” asks Connor behind him, voice threaded with arousal. Sounding so superior.

            Hank feels smooth hands clutch at his sides as Connor starts to move him the way he wants, grip getting harder and harder until he’s all but snapping Hank’s body onto his cock like a fucking toy.

            Clarity crashes into him like a fucking bludgeon to the head into what Connor wants to hear from him. All the questions, the sharp-edged talk about other androids; Hank knows what he’s digging for, what he’s trying fuck out of Hank because he’s got too much pride to ask for it.

            And Hank knows a thing or two about being proud, being stubborn.

            “ _Yeah_ ,” he moans, toward his headboard because he can’t crane his head around. Playing it up a little, he lets himself get shaky with it, the way that Connor likes him to be when they break out the coin. “You’re all I fucking need.”

            There’s a hitch of breath behind him and the Connor’s hips stutter, stopping flush against Hank’s ass. Just for a moment, a break in his perfect rhythm that lets Hank know he’s struck gold.

            Hank groans and barrels on when he picks up again, letting Connor’s cock pound the words right out of him: “Ah, _fuck_ …What’d I do with some p-perky girl, huh? Some fuckin’ ditzy guy, when I’ve got you, _huh_?!”

            Bearing through the breathlessness, almost choking from the strain of speaking through the most brutal fucking he’s had in forever, Hank grinds out: “Jesus…you think I’m some kind of idiot? That I don’t see how good I’ve got it with you?” His voice pitches higher than his pride could probably handle if he were less distracted. But he needs Connor to hear it, needs his partner to know that he’s good, so much better than Hank could have ever hoped for.

            The grip in his hair pulls his head back further and Hank’s grunt is drowned out by a low moan from behind him. In his mind’s eye, he can imagine the way Connor might be biting his own lip right now, eyes big and shiny.

            The free hand goes and cradles Hank’s belly, kneading and stroking over the skin, before dropping lower to grasp at his cock.  

            He feels his words turning to mush, a mindless babble and his sweating palms lose their grip on the sheets, sliding forward. He drops chest first onto the bed, muscles turned to jelly and ass in the air as though Hank has become a creature with one singular, carnal use.

            Groaning into the damp patch in his striped pillowcase, Hank tells him: “Take me apart if that’s what you need, Connor –” his name, Hank breathes like a prayer – “Do whatever you fucking want to me.”

            A hand settles onto his head, fingers gripping his hair and shoving him deeper into the pillows. He couldn’t budge it if he tried – so he doesn’t. Instead he rides it out, panting wetly into his pillowcase as Connor fucks them both to the finish line.

            His back bows when he comes, thighs tensing like he’s running a marathon. He’s pretty sure the sound he makes can be heard from outside the house, loud and brittle all at once. Connor jerks him through it, spilling onto his sheets as Hank mindlessly rocks back onto Connor’s cock to draw it out.

            Satisfied with how much he’s wrung out of him, Connor grips him by his hips and ruts into him with the single-minded focus on joining him at the finish, groaning through gritted teeth.

            “Oh…yeah, come on,” Hank slurs, tongue feeling thick in his own mouth. “You wanna fucking come in me?”

            “ _Yes_ …”

            “Then fucking _come in me_.”

            How Connor has developed a taste for this part, Hank has never figured out. But he’s more than willing to indulge, even as he feels his hips starting to creak and his leg starting to cramp.

            When Connor comes he presses his body flush against Hank’s back, grinding his hips languidly against Hank’s ass, pumping him full and moaning like he’s never been granted the privilege before. Hank reaches behind himself and strokes his partner’s thigh through it, murmuring about how good it is, how he’s done such a good job.

            They collapse, Connor nosing at the back of Hank’s neck and Hank shoving the damp pillow away to properly catch his breath.

            “Oh, Jesus…” he grunts, his brain slow after such a good fuck.

            Carefully, Connor sits upright and pulls himself out, taking his time with it; probably watching the mess he’s made like the little pervert he is. Hank feels a nudge on his side and turns to drop onto his back with a grimace as his ass lands right on the wet spot on the bed.

            “Goddamn…that was fucking good,” he sighs, wiping a hand down his face. With his other, he rubs littles circles on Connor’s arm.  

            Shaking his head and looking frazzled, Connor murmurs, “You can go again, can’t you? You can go again…”

            “I really fuckin’ _can’t_ ,” Hank sputters, eyes going wide.

            “You can, just let me…”

            He can see Connor gearing up to go again, looking lost. Not quite right.

            Without really thinking about it, but knowing he has to, Hank reaches over and slaps his hand down onto the coin. The sound of his palm on the table makes Connor’s head snap up, eyes zeroing in it as he freezes. His narrow shoulders shake, and his LED spins in a fast swirl of yellow and red.

            “Easy,” whispers Hank, like he’s calming something dangerous. And maybe he is – Connor could keep going all night, if he wanted to, he could ruin Hank completely.

            He’d be damned if the thought of it wasn’t completely hot, to let Connor keep going and gorge himself onto Hank like Hank himself is just an afterthought to the whole thing – but Hank is human and a more worn out one than most. He reaches up with his other hand and cradles the android’s jaw, thumb smoothing over his pouty lips. “Time to come down now,” Hank rasps, still catching his own breath back into his lungs. “Steady.”

            Connor shivers, lashes fluttering, LED calming to blue; his whole body droops like a doll’s and then falls gently on top of Hank, wrapping his arms around his middle. Hank feels a thrumming in Connor’s chest – his pump working overtime, like the heart of a mechanical hummingbird.

            Just as fragile, too, despite the strength.

            “Shh,” Hank coos into his hairline, kisses his brow, then the curve of his ear.

            He drops the coin back onto the nightstand and threads his fingers through Connor’s hair, trailing them down the sharp slope of his back. Eyes squeezed shut, Connor turns his head and buries his face into Hank’s neck.

            “Did I…overdo it?” he asks, muffled against skin. “Did I hurt you?”

            “No,” Hank chuckles. “Well, maybe – nothing I wasn’t into. We need to stop for _you_.”

            Lightly, he raps his knuckle on the back of Connor’s skull. “Can’t have you getting too far into your own head either, you know,” he says and tugs at that loose tuft of hair. “I think you got your limits too, kid.”

            Connor stops trembling, and Hank feels exhaustion creep into his bones. A bit of an ache too, all over his muscles.

            By the time Connor stops hiding, Hank’s feeling ready to go to sleep. They need to get up, because the wet patch on his sheets is uncomfortable to lie on and Hank doesn’t quite like the feeling of synthetic come leaking out of him. He glances over to the nightstand – the video on his phone ended a while ago, and the clock lets him know it’s getting late.   

            The fury has gone out of those pretty eyes, but he can still see something a little cornered in his expression.

            “Thank you,” Connor whispers, chewing his lip.

            Raising a brow, Hank says, “You wanna talk to me?”

            He figures he’s caught most of it – the jealousy, the worry over other androids. But he gets a sense that there’s a root somewhere they haven’t talked about.

            For a long moment, Connor looks like he’s considering an escape from the conversation. But then, he wilts.

            “…I don’t want to be replaced,” he says. “It’s something that has been on my mind, since seeing model 60 in the warehouse…”

            He shifts and continues, looking out the bedroom window: “Whenever you get distracted by other androids…I find myself thinking about it.”

            Ah.

            It’s not something that Hank could ever get, not really. But he tries to put himself into Connor’s shoes, imagining seeing a more brainwashed version of himself threatening to upend everything, and he thinks that the pain must be on a whole other level.     

            He’s never been too hot with comforting talk, but he has to try.

            Hank shuffles back upward on the bed to rest his back against the pillows, dragging Connor bodily with him with an arm wrapped around his waist. When they settle, he asks, “You know, not to sound like a fucking hypocrite – but we should probably talk about…this whole thing. That, too.”

            It really _is_ hypocritical, he knows. There are few things Hank likes less than being made to get chatty about his own bullshit, and a lot of the times Connor has tried usually resulted in Hank digging in his heels or the two of them falling into a screaming match. It’s positively _rich_ , coming from him, but Hank can admit to wanting better for Connor than he’ll ever ask for himself.

            Tilting his head, Connor’s eyes drift off to the side, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Hank’s shoulder; his lush little mouth is a pert moue, and that ring in his head casts a pale golden glow on the angelic ridge of his cheekbone. Beautiful, as always.

            “Not tonight,” he says, quietly. “We will – but not tonight…”

            “Sure,” Hank nods.

            Connor looks back at him, and his expression is longing. Yellow gives way to blue, and he sweeps a hand over Hank’s face, not quite touching. “I’m a bit lost in a fantasy right now, you know,” he murmurs, almost a whisper.

            He isn’t saying it in a heated way, not as some precursor to more sex – and thank God, because Hank is too tired to even lift his head. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been this fucked out.

            “Yeah? And what’s that?”

            There’s a hiss as the skin recedes on Connor’s hand and he reaches up to trail those sleek, white fingers over the bridge of Hank’s nose. “I’m imagining…that I’ve taken your attention away from any androids that aren’t me,” says Connor, voice dreamy. “That I’m so deep in you now there’s no need to look anywhere else. You’re here in front of me because I was good enough to put you there. Keep you there.”

            Hank sighs as he nuzzles into the touch. Parting his lips, he catches the thumb and sucks it into the heat of his mouth, and watches how it draws Connor’s attentive gaze. Quick as he is, he’s still an easy one to catch.

            Letting it slip back out, slick with spit, Hank says, “Told you before, I’m not looking or going anywhere else.”

            “I know,” he nods. “I should take you at your word. And I know it’s…not the kind of thoughts I should have. It’s not fair, and I should work on it.”

            Connor looks at his wet thumb, before drawing it toward his face and licking it clean of Hank’s saliva.

            “But right now, it feels good to think them,” he continues. “Will you let me fantasize? Just for tonight, maybe.”

            Hank knows it was never about the video, nothing so small, but he’s glad to get the confirmation. Connor’s getting the hang of living life like humans after all, if he’s dealing with the shoddy ways that emotions can work; or getting the hanging of how things just don’t make sense sometimes – how the good things feel bad and the bad things feel good.  

            “I’m not gonna kick up a fuss about it,” Hank says, eventually, patting Connor’s hip. He feels his eyes getting droopy. “Do what you need to. We’ll figure things out.”

            “Thank you.”

            “And you wanna know something?”

            “Hm?”

            Hank clears his throat. “…It’s hot when you get all mad.”

            Connor raises brow. “Oh?”

            His LED blinks, a rapid blip of blue like Morse code – the closest thing he’s got to a blush, Hank has learned by now.

            Connor smiles, looking fond. “You’re strange.”

            “Heh,” Hank shrugs. “Maybe.”

            He figures they’re both probably some of the strangest people out there.

            “I don’t like being mad,” says Connor, squinting a little. “But I do like treating you…roughly. That doesn’t really seem normal.”

            He’s too sated to get properly excited at that, but Hank does grin. “Fuck,” he chuckles. “Who cares? It can be _our_ normal.”

 

*

 

            It’s nice to know that being an android doesn’t mean Connor can just get over shit overnight. The guy has to work on it like everyone else and Hank finds a comfort in that; he enjoys watching the progress, too. It puts them on even ground, and Hank could do with some of that sometimes, when the gulf between them seems beyond comprehension.

            This time, there’s Traci with red hair, whose modified LED glows a pale pink. Of all things, she calls herself ‘Darling’ like something out of a storybook. 

            “What’s the tale behind that?” Hank asks, making conversation.  

            She grins. “Someone I was in love with called me that. I liked the idea of everyone else calling me it, too.”

            She shrugs, hair fluttering around her neck.  

            Nodding, Hank gives her a smile. She leaves the office with a sweep of her scarf, waving politely to some of the other officers as she does.

            Later, as he’s washing his hands in the restroom, Connor comes in with a thoughtful look on his face. They watch each other in the mirror.

            Then there’s a hand lightly grazing his back, and Connor is leaning down to rest his chin on the back of Hank’s shoulder, nose in his hair. Connor slips his eyes closed, eyelashes a dark fan on his cheeks.

            “You okay?” Hank asks.

            “Yeah.”

            Slender fingers reach up to push his hair aside, and Hank feels a mouth graze the back of his neck.

            Hank lets him have the moment – whatever it is – and watches as he opens his eyes and rights himself again, whatever cloud that came over him dissipating as quick as it came. Connor catches his eye in the mirror, and murmurs, “Just…working on it.”

            Turning, Hank wraps him up in a hug. “And how we doin’ on that front, huh?”

            The smile he gets is a genuine – beautiful and at peace. “Getting there.”

 


End file.
